


Slip

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 00:33:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Percy isn’t very good at ice skating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slip

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Percy stumbles backwards, expecting hard ice, and instead gets soft fabric.

Oliver helps him back to his feet and says in his charming accent, “Good thing I’m a fast skater.”

“I thought you were on the other side,” Percy responds evenly, whilst he fixes his glasses.

“I was, but then I saw you wobbling and smartly rushed over.” He looks rather proud of himself, and Percy tries to stifle a blush. Oliver has a bit of a knight-in-shining-armour complex sometimes, and every time it shows itself, Percy gets butterflies in his chest, which he feels much too old for.

He stiffly says, “Thank you,” and starts slowly shuffling forward. Skating, apparently, like most physical activities, is not Percy’s strong suit.

Oliver, oddly, like with most of Percy’s shortcomings, doesn’t seem to mind. He’s excellent at skating, like everything else except homework, and follows Percy with ease. After a few attempts at gliding, Percy stumbles again, this time grabbing at Oliver’s arm, and Oliver steadies him out again. Percy sniffs and adjusts his scarf. This is... embarrassing. And his nose is cold.

Oliver’s warm all over. His red-and-gold sweater practically radiates heat, and his gloved hand drops to hold Percy’s gloved hand. Percy isn’t sure how he feels about that.

On the one hand, he feels giddy.

On the other hand, Ron is somewhere on the other side of the Lake, and will never let him hear the end of it if he sees. There are a fair amount of other people around the frozen water, but the twins aren’t here, so Ron’s next in line to do the most damage. Percy’s stomach churned when Oliver first suggested this—he doesn’t like making a fool of himself, even without witness. But Oliver looked so charming when he asked that Percy couldn’t say anything but ‘yes,’ like usual: yes to whatever Oliver wants.

On another near-stumble, Percy throws his arms around Oliver’s, and Oliver holds him steady. Oliver lets Percy clutch onto him as they glide forward in a simple straight line. When Percy’s regained enough composure, he takes his hands away, and Oliver loops an arm around his waist. “Just one foot at a time,” he says helpfully, in that captain-y way of his. He could teach a troll Quidditch if he put his mind to it. Sometimes it makes Percy’s stomach twist in insecurity, until those days where Oliver can’t get through a single paragraph of a Transfiguration essay, and suddenly Percy’s the other side to his coin.

Then Oliver comes back from practice in a half-dressed, sweaty heap, muscles chiseled out and hair erotically tousled, and Percy feels infinitely unworthy again. He doesn’t know how he ends up like this, in the arms of Gryffindor’s star player, but however it came to be, he’s grateful. Oliver makes him smile where no one else can, and as they drift across the ice, Percy starts to feel better.

He hated skating when he was a child. It was a chance for all of his brothers to mock him, and more than once the twins cut holes in the ice and pushed him through. Bill and Charlie used to hold races, and Percy would always, always come in last. Even Ron could do more than him, and he didn’t scowl so much while he tried, and he didn’t skate into snow piles because of fogged-with-breath glasses. Oliver puts fun where Percy never had any.

Percy hated the winter in general when he was a child. He hated the snow—it made him cold and made him sneeze, and if heating spells could only stretch so far, Ron would get them, because Percy didn’t cry as much. He hated decorating the burrow—every knickknack would be more meaningless than the last, and the twins would pelt him with baubles when their parents weren’t around. He hated Christmas most of all though. They’d all sit around the fire laughing jovially, and Percy would be the only one who inexplicably couldn’t enjoy it, and the more everyone came together, the more he’d feel apart. He wouldn’t fit in, and the jokes would always be at him, with everyone but him, and when relatives would come over, they’d smile at all the others, and never really him. He wasn’t—isn’t—exotic like Bill, or adventurous like Charlie, or creative like Fred and George, or friendly like Ron. He’s organized and stiff and he just never belongs.

Except with Oliver, who holds him tight when he almost falls for the millionth time, and laughs with him, next to his ear, and says, “Percy, you’re so cute.” He kisses Percy on the forehead, and Percy turns a deep red, wondering vaguely if anyone saw them.

Not that he’d mind, of course. If people knew that Oliver Wood thought him cute, they might not pick on him so much. But they also might bother Oliver about it, and someone might actually get it through Oliver’s thick skull that he’s being foolish. Percy isn’t worth it. Percy should just go back up to the tower and study, alone.

“Are you going home for the holidays?” Oliver asks, as they near the edge of the Lake, close enough to the snow should Percy need a softer landing. Percy looks down at Oliver’s feet and tries to mimic his movements. Logically speaking, skating shouldn’t be that difficult to master. (Or at least become competent at.)

“No.” He was invited, of course. They’re all invited. But Percy never really feels _wanted_ and would rather stay at Hogwarts, where at least he has access to a library. He’s a Prefect, after all, and really should stay for his duties.

Oliver beams at him, and it sucks Percy in. Percy stops skating for a moment so he can just stare at the radiance, and Oliver stops too, sliding along the ice to stand in front of him. Oliver’s arm slips around Percy’s waist to the front, and the other one moves too, so that Oliver’s holding Percy steady. They’re incredibly close, and it makes Percy flush between his freckles. “Awesome, me too.”

“Really?” Percy mumbles, eyes wide. Oliver doesn’t have family troubles like Percy does. Oliver has a wonderful family, like Oliver has a wonderful everything. “Why?”

Oliver shrugs nonchalantly, in that charming way of his, without ever breaking eye contact. “Wanted to get some extra practice in—I think we’ve really got a chance at the Cup this year.” Percy smiles and nods. Of course. Oliver’s so dedicated to his passion, and so hard working, and it’s one of the many, many things that Percy loves about him. “And,” he adds, finally breaking the contact to look uncharacteristically-sheepishly aside, “I figured you would too.”

Percy’s smile drops immediately. “What?”

Oliver looks back at him, bright eyes burning. “I know you said how you hate Christmas, and from the sounds of it, you just haven’t been given a proper one. ...So, I’d like to volunteer.” He grins winningly and adds, “I already got you the best present ever.”

Percy doesn’t stop himself in time from cheekily retorting, “Is it you?” Then he blushes even harder and can’t believe he said that.

Oliver laughs so hard he actually throws his head back, and Percy wonders if Oliver has an idea how close he’s bringing Percy to tears. The cold air is already stinging his eyes, and the butterflies are bad enough. Oliver has a way of sweeping Percy off his feet with the smallest of gestures. This small gesture is no small feat to Percy, and it means more to him than he’ll probably ever manage to say.

Oliver laughs, “No, but you can have that too.” Then he raises an eyebrow and adds, “While we’re on the subject; feel free to dress only in ribbon on Christmas morning—I’ve been asking Santa for that since first year.”

Percy turns beet red and lightly slaps Oliver’s chest, knowing he’s joking but still scolding, “Then you were a rather raunchy first year!”

“Oh, I’m on the naughty list every year,” Oliver purrs, and he starts to lean closer. “But how could I not, with you in a bed next to me?”

Percy’s eyes flutter closed as Oliver presses their lips together, and for a moment, Percy forgets everything. He forgets about whoever else is on the ice, and whatever else ever happened atop frozen water, at any other time. Oliver holds his waist tightly, and Percy feels _safe_ and secure. He wraps his arms around Oliver’s broad shoulders and tilts his head, parting his lips and deepening the kiss. Oliver’s tongue snakes in and he traces all around Percy’s mouth, building up to a more fervent kiss, until he’s ravishing Percy’s mouth. Percy moans into it and doesn’t want to let go.

But they do a moment later, and Oliver rubs his cold nose against Percy’s. He smiles warmly and says, “I love you.”

Percy’s eyes are a little wet, and he says without hesitation, “I love you too.”


End file.
